Andi discovered the attic by accident.
That afternoon, Uncle Wirya had gone to the garden. The house felt quieter than usual. After cleaning the back room, Andi decided to move an old cabinet that had been standing against the wall for a long time.
When the cabinet shifted a few inches, he heard wood scrape against wood.
Creak.
Andi stopped.
Behind the cabinet was a small door, almost hidden beneath dust and cobwebs.
He had never known it was there.
Andi wiped the surface with his palm. A wooden handle appeared.
He pulled it.
The door opened with a long groan that made the hair on his arms stand up.
Behind it was a narrow wooden staircase leading upward.
Andi peered inside.
“An attic?”
He took an oil lamp and slowly climbed the stairs.
Every step creaked. Dust fluttered through the air as his head emerged through the opening above.
The space was cramped.
The ceiling was low. In places where the boards didn’t cover it, he could see the roof. Sunlight slipped through tiny gaps, forming white streaks in the dust.
Andi found all kinds of old things.
Yellowed photographs.
Folded clothes.
A broken radio.
A wooden box.
Several books.
And in the corner of the room sat a small metal chest.
Andi approached it.
It wasn’t locked.
He lifted the lid.
Inside were dozens of sheets of notes tied together with string.
A name was written at the very top.
SURYA WIRYANA.
Andi’s heart began to beat faster.
He sat on the floor and started reading.
Surya’s handwriting was neat on the first few pages. But the farther Andi read, the more erratic it became.
As if the person writing had begun to lose his composure.
Andi read the first entry.
Day four. We found a black stone.
The next page.
Day six. The sound came again.
Then:
Day nine. Fire appeared without fuel.
Andi stopped.
He swallowed.
So what he’d seen wasn’t new.
That fire had appeared decades ago.
He read the next page.
Day eleven. Wirya wants to leave. Andi’s father says we have to finish what we started.
Andi froze.
His father.
That name had appeared again.
He turned the page with trembling hands.
Day twelve. We saw the shadow for the first time. No face. No sound. Just a body too tall to be called human.
Andi drew a long breath.
He wanted to stop.
But his curiosity was stronger.
The next page contained only one sentence.
It wasn’t chasing us. It was waiting.
Andi felt a chill creep through his body.
Waiting for whom?
Waiting for what?
He turned the page.
There was a drawing of a symbol.
A circle with three lines extending outward like tongues of flame.
The same symbol as the one on Darto’s palm.
Two words were written beneath it.
THE FIRE KEEPER.
Andi stared at the words for a long time.
The Fire Keeper.
What did it mean?
Was that the creature’s name?
Or someone’s name?
He turned the next page.
An old photograph slipped from between the sheets.
Andi picked it up.
It showed five men standing at the edge of the forest.
They looked young.
One of them was Uncle Wirya.
Andi recognized him, even though he looked much younger.
Andi’s father stood beside him.
Andi stared at his father’s face.
He had never seen this photograph before.
His father wore a faint smile.
Three other men he didn’t know stood beside them.
But something made Andi stop paying attention to the five men.
Behind them, among the trees, was a black shadow.
Andi brought the photograph closer to his face.
He narrowed his eyes.
The figure was almost impossible to see.
At first, it looked like nothing more than a darker patch of forest.
But after studying it for a few seconds, Andi began to make out the shape of a head.
A body.
And long arms hanging down.
Andi felt his hands trembling.
The shadow had been there.
In 1987.
Before Darto.
Before Andi was born.
Before everything that had happened over the past few days.
Suddenly, a voice called from downstairs.
“Andi!”
He jumped.
The photograph nearly slipped from his hand.
“Andi!”
Uncle Wirya’s voice.
Andi stood up at once.
He heard footsteps climbing the stairs.
One.
Two.
Three.
Uncle Wirya appeared in the attic opening.
His face was pale.
“What did you find?”
Andi gripped the photograph tightly.
“This is my father.”
Uncle Wirya climbed a few steps.
“Come down.”
“Uncle, what’s that thing behind you?”
“Come down. Now.”
Andi didn’t move.
He held up the photograph.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?”
Uncle Wirya looked at the photograph.
His expression changed.
Andi continued,
“Who is the Fire Keeper?”
Uncle Wirya froze.
For a few moments, he didn’t move at all.
Then, slowly, he looked at the photograph.
“I was hoping you’d never find that name.”
Andi felt his chest tighten.
“Why?”
Uncle Wirya climbed until he reached the attic.
He took one of the sheets of notes from Andi’s hand.
“Because that name isn’t just a name.”
“What do you mean?”
Uncle Wirya looked toward the corner of the attic.
“There are things worse than seeing something.”
“Like what?”
“Being remembered by something.”
Andi fell silent.
Uncle Wirya took the photograph.
But before he could put it back in the chest, Andi saw something that made him freeze.
There was handwriting on the back of the photograph.
Five men entered the forest.
Beneath it was a smaller sentence.
Only four came out.
Andi looked at his uncle.
“Who was the fifth man?”
Uncle Wirya didn’t answer.
His hands began to tremble.
Suddenly, from downstairs, came the sound of the old radio turning on.
Crackle...
A long hiss filled the house.
Then an old man’s voice came through the radio, which had been broken for years.
“Don’t let them come back...”
Uncle Wirya went pale.
Andi stared down at the radio from the attic.
The voice continued.
“The fire has chosen...”
Hiss.
“...the next name.”
The radio died.
Silence filled the house once more.
Uncle Wirya slowly looked at Andi.
And for the first time, Andi saw something in his uncle’s eyes that he had never seen before.
Not fear.
Regret.